Rachel, who had donated generously to the "surprise" gift, felt that they should share the garage door opener. She decided that Atmananda was being unfair and told him so. The next day, Atmananda instructed Dana to tell Rachel that, spiritually speaking, she was heading for some serious hot water and had better apologize quickly. Unaware of the "Garage Door Opener Incident," I was feeling pretty good. I felt even better when Atmananda, who liked the new car, reminded the Centre of how advanced a soul I really was. When the disciples began to treat me with a mellow kind of reverence-- a phenomenon local, perhaps, to southern California--I was thrilled. I had an intuitive grasp on how to wield the ad hoc power, but I did not grasp that it was the power which was actually wielding me. Meanwhile, Atmananda had added "money collector" to the growing list of my responsibilities. This task, he cautioned, was not without its dangers. "Money is physically dirty," he said, as though telling me a secret. "It also retains and transmits the greed of its handlers. Always wash your hands after you touch it." But he did not always ask me to collect it directly. In 1981, he asked me to inspire Richard, a tall, large-hearted disciple who owned a raquet-stringing shop in La Jolla. Richard, who appeared to love Guru even more than he loved tennis, was on the verge of purchasing a million-dollar house, which he planned to rent to the Centre at a bargain rate. "How's your game coming along?" I asked him. "Oh, not too bad I suppose." "Are you ready to play against Guru?" "Guru is not going to want to play tennis with me." "Sure he is. Only if I were you, I'd let him win every so often." We laughed. "How's the deal going?" I asked. His gaiety suddenly vanished. "It almost went through," he said. "But someone pulled out at the last minute...again." "Oh well," I tried. "Maybe there's someone else who could help." No response. "Wouldn't it be great," I continued, "to have the Centre across the street from UCSD? Parking sure wouldn't be a problem anymore. And picture a meditation room overlooking the ocean--a meditation room large enough to hold everyone." He nodded. "Imagine Guru coming to San Diego and visiting us at the new Centre!" "That would be nice," he admitted. "Remember Richard," I added, working in a quote from Atmananda, "whatever you really want you will get." "You're right," he said resolutely. "I'll just keep trying." After several more setbacks the deal went through, and Atmananda, Dana, Anne, Tammy, and I moved in. Atmananda occasionally paced the carpets of the new Centre, improvising a song from Fiddler On The Roof in which pious dairyman Tevya aspires for a little wealth from God. "If I were a realized soul!" Atmananda began. "Ahhh yaahtuh daahtuh daahtuh yaahtuh daahtuh daahtuh daahtuh duhm. All day long I'd bittih bittih buhm. If I were a realized soul! Ahhh wouldn't have to work hard..."